Chapter Eleven
Let the Circle not be broken
Gibbs uses the tagged key to admit himself and his four Agents into Michael Kane's condo, each of them ducking under the yellow 'Crime Scene' tape sticking crisscrossed before the door. The rooms within have been dusted for fingerprints, picked apart and examined thoroughly by the Forensic scientist but still Gibbs is not satisfied. He knows too little of the practices of these 'Wiccans' to know what he's missing; but his gut tells him he's missing something important. There's some piece of the puzzle that doesn't fit, and he hopes with Lee's informed assistance he'll be able to find it.
That is why they are here, and why the team's 'consultant', though it's late August in an un-air-conditioned apartment, sets down a large bag near the door and pulls out a long green velvet cloak. She draws it about her shoulders and ties it about her throat. The deep green cloak is long enough to reach down to her ankles, is embroidered with Asian emblems and when closed covers her from neck to ankles. It has a large hood draped down her back and she immediately starts feeling warm within it. She raises her arms, letting it fall open behind her, draped from her shoulders.
The second doorway on their left, on the way past the living room into the kitchen / dining area, leads into the den. The room has been swept clean of all the 'mystical paraphernalia', particularly from the table pressed against the left wall. All Kane's equipment is now safely ensconced in Abby's lab.
Gibbs wants Michelle to demonstrate as best as she can, based upon her studies, what Kane would have been doing, so they can get a better idea of the crime.
Gibbs, DiNozzo, McGee and David walk to the table, Lee slams face first into a wall.
x
It is not a literal wall, not one made of stone or brick or mortar, but it's a wall nonetheless. She takes a step back and considers how she can pass it. She could reach out her hand and touch it, not with her fingers, but with her senses; if it were not so revealing an act. It's not physically present, but psychically attuned as she is in a way she would have a hard time explaining to her companions, her senses tell her that it is there.
Unfortunately, to the others it just looks as though she were standing a foot inside the doorway, unwilling to enter the crime scene. "Come on, Probette," DiNozzo urges, "in or out."
How apropos his words are. Does she want to go in? Forget 'want'; she has to.
x
Unfortunately there's no way to do so, at least not pleasantly. Had she been the one who had cast the Circle, opening it would be simplicity itself. But she had not cast it, Michael Kane had and she's simply not attuned to it. Only Michael Kane could admit her through the psychic barrier with impunity, and Michael Kane is dead.
Taking a deep breath, she tries to pretend her hesitation is a simple case of nerves, and takes a step forward.
It feels like she is forcing her spirit through an electrified fence. The unseen barrier doesn't physically keep her out, but it plays along her nerves, along her spirit, her astral body - that reality that is more than the physical body - in a very unpleasant manner.
She realizes that she had never before tried to force herself through a Circle, not since her senses had grown finely enough attuned for her to feel one against her own mental barriers, and she resolves never to do it again. Her mental barriers, which she keeps up as a matter of course unless intentionally forcing them down, are jangled by the power, and she most emphatically does not like it.
x
"Nice of you to join us," DiNozzo comments as she approaches, starting to reconsider the wisdom of taking the Probie on. Fortunately for her, it had not been his choice.
"Sorry, sir," she speaks to Gibbs rather than her former 'leader', "it won't happen again." Of that, she is determined.
Reflecting that her ensorcelled cloak is doing a really piss-poor job of protecting her, Lee tries to steel herself. She'd never thought of crossing a Circle uninvited, certainly not since the day she realized she could feel one. Normally a Circle is temporary, cast when needed and taken down when its usefulness has ended. She'd never heard of one being up for so long, and supposed it would, in time, dissipate. She wonders how long that'll take. It would be interesting to find out - later.
The first thing she notices about this one is that it's quite cool inside this room. She finds herself glad for the heavy cloak.
"All right," Gibbs says, bringing her back to the present, "the show's yours. Take us out."
x
The first thing that Michelle really notices is that this room isn't cool - it's cold. She had been warm, too warm in late Summer for her velvet protective cloak which she uses for her own ceremonies, but now she's cold. None of the others seem bothered by the chill but she longs to turn the AC off.
The next thing she realizes is that she can detect the gentle scent of incense in the air. It had been so many hours since the last of it had burned away, yet it's here, barely discernable but present, like the trace of a lover long since departed. She wonders if the others smell it, or whether it is because she is so used to - or so attuned to - it. It would be interesting to find out; if she were to 'risk' asking.
But like the cold that pervades the room, she doesn't really believe it is physically real. It is, however, psychically very real and undeniable. She cannot say anything to the others; they cannot feel what she does, and she knows it is not with her body that she's feeling the cold. It is with her spiritual senses, attuned on the psychic level, that she feels these things; things that they would have a hard time believing in if she dared to tell them. She cannot tell them. She just has to push the sensation out of her mind and concentrate.
"All right," Gibbs says, more than ready to get started, "what's here?"
x
His words pull her back into the moment, and she tries to force the cold, and the sensations playing along her nerves, out of her mind. She must concentrate upon the here and now. She knows he means more than an inventory of what had been on the table, that he already knows in detail. He wants to know their purpose. "The Altar is covered with a sanctified cloth–"
"Sanctified by a Priest?" DiNozzo cuts in.
"By a Wiccan priest or priestess, or by the witch him– or herself; in this case there's no way to tell." DiNozzo opens his mouth to question her further but Gibbs signals to hold his questions until she's finished, for which she's glad. If she has to 'justify' things at every step, she'll never get warm; and the Circle is so cold it's starting to become very unpleasant.
"On the Altar are candles, the colors and scents, if any, are specific to the intent of the service. So is the sequence in which they are lit or extinguished. Most Wiccans today use candles encased in glass, in consideration of fire safety. There's the Athame, which you already know about. It's the practitioner's principal tool." She holds her hands over the table, describing positions while 'seeing' the tools in her mind.
"There'll be incense, a small bowl of salt which will be removed using the point of the Athame as a measuring and mixing tool. There'll be a mixing bowl and whatever ingredients the Witch needs. Also a bowl of water, a cruet of wine and a sanctified cup, or in his case an actual chalice - which does not have to be gold.
"There'll also be three white cords; silk, hemp, wool or some other natural product; not nylon. They must be of specific lengths: once about the head at forehead height, once about the body at heart level, and one the height of the witch."
"Why?" Gibbs asks, breaking his own rule.
"For protection. It binds the witch's spirit to his or her body; particularly useful for scrying in the Astral plane."
"Scrying?"
"Separating the spirit from the body, allowing it to move without the limitations of space or time. You can explore our own world or other levels of reality - provided you're careful."
"You actually believe this nonsense?" DiNozzo asks, unable to keep from venting his view.
"They do, sir." There's a careful tone to her last word; whether she believes in its use or is being cautious about omitting it being open to interpretation. Fortunately, it is a care she cannot be called upon.
x
She draws the hood of the cloak over her head, adjusting her long, jet black hair within it, grateful for its added warmth in the 'hot' room. The hood comes well forward, cutting off her peripheral vision.
"Why the hood?" Tim asks. Kane had been wearing Monk's robes with a hood, but from the way he lay it couldn't be determined if it had been up or down.
"The witch will want to concentrate, undistracted by anything around her – I mean him." She turns to the table and now she's alone.
"What will he do now?" Gibbs asks.
"He'll cast the Circle," she tells him, wishing she weren't freezing. The cold is getting inside the cloak with her, something even the cloth's mystical protections cannot help her with. 'How powerful was he?" she wonders, wishing he hadn't been so potent.
"All right; go ahead."
She mimes picking up and unsheathing the Athame, wishing she had her own. "He'll nod to the North," she does, "a gesture of respect to the Spirits of the North, who will be invoked last. Then he'll use the Athame to start to cast the Circle."
Not having a knife; she certainly could not consider bringing her own from her home, she uses her extended finger, hoping she can do something about the cold. Something about this Circle is causing the chill in the air, and she doesn't need two guesses to figure out what.
This consecrated place has been desecrated by murder.
x
"Sh - he'll call upon the Spirits of the East for protection, inviting them into a sacred space and imploring their aid." She turns to her right, wishing she could concentrate. "Then he'll turn diosil; that is, east to west by south, following the path of the sun."
"Clockwise." DiNozzo translates.
"For a time when there were no clocks," she reminds him.
"Go on." Gibbs knows she and DiNozzo had a somewhat adversarial relationship, he has no time or interest in it.
"Yes, sir. He would call upon the major Spirits, and upon his Patron Goddess, who I understand is Minerva." She turns to Gibbs, barely able to see him under the dark edge of the hood. She expects he can see nothing higher than her mouth. "Minerva is -."
"I know who Minerva is," Gibbs informs her. Thanks to McGee he does.
"Yes, sir. Well, anyway, there's a whole ritual to go through."
"I'm less interested in what he said as in what he did."
"Yes, sir."
x
She's shivering and concentrates upon dispersing the Circle rather than establishing one, inscribing banishing pentagrams into the air, knowing she cannot be caught at the difference. But using only her finger, she's not sure she can disperse it. The realization of this doubt, in the face of her mounting cold, reminds her why she's failing.
"You imagine the purpose of the Circle; summon energy through the Chakras -"
"The what?" McGee asks, then biting his lip for having interrupted.
"Isn't that that thing Xena threw around?"
"I am surprised you even noticed what she used, DiNozzo," Ziva quips, referring to the Warrior Princess' extremely brief attire.
"Enough," Gibbs declares, his patience diminishing by the second. They're here to learn and to develop new theories about how the murder had taken place, not to play foolish games.
x
Grateful for the enforced silence, Michelle continues the circle, gesturing silently, realizing her banishing pentagrams are having no effect upon the protective Circle that is slowly freezing her to the bone. 'How powerful was Kane?' she implores the Spirits again.
"Is anything wrong, Lee?" Gibbs asks.
She doesn't feel up to lying. "I'm cold, sir."
The Agents exchange looks she does not see, her vision limited to him alone.
"It's over 70 out; and hotter in here."
"I'm freezing, sir."
He reaches out, takes her hand, looks at her intently. "You're ice cold."
She pulls back the hood with her free hand so she can see him clearly. "I told you, sir." She'll never forget to call him 'sir', no matter what her burdens.
"Why are you ice cold, Lee?"
"I don't know, sir," she tells him honestly. She believes it has something to do with the Circle, with the murder, but since she isn't sure she could say the words truly. "I just really want to finish and get out of here, sir."
x
He lets go of her hand. "All right, what's next?"
She draws the hood forward again, annoyed at its uselessness. If she had the time - and the solitude - she would perform a proper Banishing Ritual, but that's out of the question. "After the Altar and implements are incensed, the wine will be consecrated."
"Doesn't the bread get done first, like in a Mass?" DiNozzo asks.
"It could be done that way, but it is not usual." She wishes he hadn't come; or that there were a spell that could…. "I'm 90 percent sure the wine would be first."
"That's consistent with the physical evidence," McGee reminds them. "The spill starts near the middle of the table, but indications are that the bread and paten were dropped."
Michelle wishes she could pull the cloak about her, but knows that it has nothing to do with the cold. The chill that's making her shiver comes from within, from her senses, not from the air.
"All right, if the wine is already done, how will he do the bread?"
Michelle turns back to the table, no longer able to see them with the hood blocking her peripheral vision. "He'll set the wine down and place the bread upon the paten, bless it with the incense," she mimes the gestures, "again pay his respects to the Spirits of the North, not wanting to offend anyone since he'll speak to them last. He'll hold the bread up," she mimes doing so, "pray, and then turn to his right." As she does so, her limited vision pans to reveal that quarter of the room. "He'll pray to the Spirits of the South, and then turn West." She does so and gasps when Gibbs, inches from her, stabs his fingers into her chest, right where Kane had been stabbed.
"His face was covered," Ziva concludes. "There was an interval of about a minute between the times he turned. Kane would not have seen someone standing directly behind him until he turned 'West'."
"Right," Gibbs confirms. "Whoever did it could have snuck in. the carpet muffled the noise. He was talking, concentrating on what he was doing - shutting out everything else. Our man only had to wait for the right moment."
x
Lee can endure it no longer. She quickly moves to Tim McGee, throws her arms about him and hugs him tightly. She needs his warmth and draws it from his body, not caring how it looks.
Surprised, he doesn't know what to do or say, but the glare Ziva David gives the young woman hits him at the same moment as the realization that "Boss, she's freezing." Even through her clothes and heavy cloak, her body is like ice.
"She doesn't look very 'frigid' to me," Ziva counters angrily.
"Take her outside, give her something hot to drink." The limitations on disturbing a crime scene, which fortunately has been thoroughly screened, can be balanced with concern for a sick Agent.
McGee pushes the shivering woman, who is colder than from any sickness he'd ever heard of, far enough away that he can walk with his arm guiding her. She's shaking, teeth chattering, but when they go nearly to the door she moans sharply. Her legs give out and he must grab her to keep her from falling to the carpet.
x
Michelle had taken the first crossing of the Circle slowly and it had felt to her 'psychic body' like forcing her way through an electrified fence. This time she couldn't stop McGee in time from passing her through quickly and it almost turns her soul inside out. She cries out behind clamped lips, her physical body gives way and suddenly McGee and DiNozzo are on either of her arms, holding her up as she hangs, a dead weight, between them.
But she's free of the icebox Circle. She's still frigidly cold, but she can feel the heat of the room that the others do, and knows she'll start to warm again.
"Lee, what's wrong with you?" Gibbs asks, standing in front of her.
She tries to get her feet under her, to push herself back up. "Sorry, sir, I'm not really sure." The cloak, that should be cooking her, is just starting to make her feel better. She can barely see Gibbs past the hood, grateful she doesn't have to meet his eyes.
"You sick? If so, we'll take you to a doctor."
"I'm fine, sir."
"You don't look fine. You're pale and your body," he pushes her hood off, touches her forehead, "is like ice."
"Please, sir, I'll be fine." She's already feeling warmer, feeling the temperature of the room as they do. "I'm fine, sir. I promise."
He looks at her intently, not willing to take her word. "When we get back; you have Ducky look you over."
She can stand on her own, and the men release her. "Yes, sir."
"What happened?"
"I don't know, sir," she says, keeping strictly to the truth, "but I think it's over."
He shakes his head.
x
She wants to protest, but knows it is useless. However, despite everything, she at least has some answers. She only has to figure out how to convey them and still maintain her privacy, not an easy tightrope.
"Sir, I think I understand how he was killed."
Since they had already determined that, or so Gibbs thought, her phrasing makes him pay stricter attention. "Go on."
"I understand from Megan Wood that Kane was a powerful Witch -" she catches DiNozzo's eyes, "-or thought he was." She mentally winces at having to say it. "He had highly developed psychic talents, but I understand the mental focus Wiccans use in their ceremonies. Michael Kane could have been caught by surprise because of the focus he needed to perform the ceremony. He was so intent that he never heard anyone enter the room or come up behind him." Just as none of the others could feel or be aware of the Circle, she concludes silently, she could not sense anything outside of it.
"For the protection it offers, the Circle forms so powerful a shield that it worked both ways. It had kept other psychic danger out, but limited his senses to the border. His focus had been so intense he had never even felt the Circle around him being breeched."
xxx
"I'm telling you, honey; this'll work." Megan Wood insists as she paces back and forth in her living room, her cell phone pressed to her ear. "Yes, I know - but you saw it move just like the others did. I did not move it, damn it, Mike did!"
She listens, patiently for her, and is seized by an overwhelming urge to throw the device against the wall. "I called out sick last night. Yes, I know, but I couldn't go in. My voice was shot. Yes, I know it's because I was screaming too much, but I had the right to. Yes, it's better, you can hear it's better, can't you? Yes, I saw a Doctor. I also took some tea and honey after coming back from NCIS Headquarters."
She plops down on her couch, disgusted. "They brought me in because they thought I killed Mike. Yes, I know that - but they let me go when they found out I couldn't have done it. Look, will you just come over?" She gets up again, resuming her pacing. "Yes, I know you're at work, I mean this evening after work; Harry and Sally too. What do you mean she won't come? I didn't mean I'd break them; just bend them a little. Okay, screw her; what about Harry?"
She pulls the phone from her ear, clutching it so tightly she thinks she might crush it and then brings it back up violently. "I am not nuts - you saw it move goddammit! What are my plans? I'm going to cast a Circle, this evening, when you all get here, and I'm trying again. And when I get him inside it I'm not letting him go until he tells me. No, I am not letting this go! NCIS is chasing their asses - there's only one person there with any sense. Now I'm casting the Circle this evening - it's the last chance while the moon is full enough to use its power to add to my own and I'm going to make Mike tell me who killed him.
"Yes, make him. I can do it, I'm sure of it. But I don't want to do it alone. I know you're not Witches, goddammit, I want you as Witnesses! So that when Mike tells me who killed him we can all go to NCIS - otherwise it's my word alone and they won't buy that.
"Look, just tell them, okay? Be here by seven. No, you are not going to talk me out of it. Just tell them. Because they won't pass my goddamn calls through to him, that's why! Some half-assed rule about 'no personal calls during business hours'! I'd like to ram this phone down that bitch's throat!
"Probably doing a Pole Dance - or a Lap one! Anyway, I can't reach her either. Because you're a guy, and guys can always reach girls at that place. Yes, I know 'you don't go to such places'. Stop bullshitting me, I'm sure you're there every evening leering at her with your tongue hanging out.
"All right, I'm sorry! Damn it, just help me out, will you? Just tell them? No! No, you think you're helping. No. No! Getting a doctor is not helping. Getting their asses down here by seven; that's helping! All right, you'll call? Yes, fine. You'll get them here? No! 'Try not. Do, or do not, there is no try'! Yes, 'Yoda'. And if you don't get them here, ready and willing to make an honest go of this; then don't you come back!"
She stabs the disconnect button, closes the phone and throws it at the couch. It hits the back, bounces off to the floor and rings. She stands listening to it ring, hearing the blood roaring in her ears, knowing her face is as red as her hair, and fights back the urge to scream. She does not want to destroy her voice again. Tonight she has to go in, even if she can't stay awake.
The phone will not stop ringing. Finally, with an exclamation of disgust, she bends down, flips it open and puts it to her ear. "What?" She listens, trying to force herself not to scream. "Yes, I know, honey. I didn't mean that. You'll help? Yes, I know you do, and I love you too. Yes, tell them. Seven o'clock. Yes, bye."
x
Cutting off the call, she stabs the buttons viciously, waits with mounting frustration for the phone to stop ringing. "Hello, this is Megan Wood again, I have to speak to Harry Alberg. Yes, but its important." She squeezes the phone hard enough to throttle the life from it. "No! Listen, little miss rule-book, you put him on or - ! Listen to me, you tell him Megan Wood is casting a Circle at 7:00, and I'm going to find out who killed Mike Kane and I'm going to the Feds, so he'd better get his ass down here! Yes, a Circle. He'll know. Look, just give him the message, okay? Fine!"
Disconnecting the circuit again, she digs into the pocket of her blouse, pulling out a business card, punches in the numbers printed upon it.
She does know someone who can help; who has already agreed to help when she'd called him, one of Mike's Wiccan friends she'd kept in touch with. He is a powerful Witch just like Mike, and he was very agreeable when he found out what had happened. He promised to come and take over, something that was a vast relief. He'll know what to do.
Now just one more call to make.
xxx
Special Agent Michelle Lee hangs up the telephone when she hears another line ring. Automatically she reaches for the handset again but there's no flashing light. Chagrinned, she reaches down to her purse on the floor. She looks across the collection of desks, sees Jethro Gibbs and Tim McGee on their own phones, Ziva David and Tony DiNozzo pursuing their computer researches. Her desk is at the left end, beyond McGee's, too close to Gibbs' for her comfort, practically directly across from him.
She puts her purse on her lap, pulls out her phone. "Special Agent Lee. Hello, Ms. Wood. All right, 'Megan'. You're going to what?" She barely keeps her strangled voice from carrying. Fortunately, no one notices. She drops her tone to a whisper, turns in her chair as far as she can from the others. "That is not a good idea. How many of these have you done? Because it's dangerous, that's why! There are reasons why we don't do it.
"That wouldn't be appropriate. Because I'm a Federal Agent investigating a murder and you are a principle witness. No, I can't come alone. No, I certainly can't bring anyone. No. No. Because they're not Federal Agents, that's why. Yes, they're all skilled; that's not the point. Look, I don't really think you have the skill to - No I won't.
"What do you mean you have another Wiccan coming over? No, that's out of the question. Who is he? No! Have you any idea what you're saying? For the same reason I won't bring any of the Coven – this is an Official Investigation and 'civilians' have no business in it.
"Blast it, you are really out of control, do you know that? Call him back and tell him you've changed your mind. Call him back and tell him you've changed your mind.
"Yes, I'm angry. I know you want to help, but do you know the best way to help? Leave this to us; we'll find out who did it. Yes, you can let it go. Blast it, this is not playacting; you have got to go into this with a clear head and you –!
"Look, all right. If you insist upon doing this then I'd better be there to make sure nothing goes wrong. But you listen to me: you do not start anything without me, and when I get there I'm running the show, understand? No. Because you don't have a clear head.
"Take it or leave it. Okay, you can set everything up. Yes, I'll bring my tools; I wouldn't dream of not using them.
"Don't mention it. No, I mean it, don't mention it to anyone! Because it can cost me my job, that's why! You have no idea how many regulations you're asking me to violate just by coming over off duty. Yes, he'd 'can' me! I'm two days on this detail and I like it.
"No, screw 'witch's honor'; I want to make sure you've got me! I do this for you - once - on the q.t., and then you never ask me again!
"I'll think about the Coven. Yes, I'll be 'observing' you this evening. I said I'll think about it. Okay, seven. Start without me and you're done. Yes goodbye."
She shoves the disconnect button and lets the phone drop down into her purse. She feels like letting her head drop onto the desktop, if she could do it without anyone noticing.
x
"Problem, Agent Lee?"
She turns about in the chair guiltily, seeing Leroy Gibbs looking at her. He'd obviously been attracted by her stream of intense whispering, but she's sure he hadn't been able to discern what she had been saying.
She should tell him the truth, but she knows that if she does then three things will happen. One: he will - quite properly - forbid her to go. Two: Megan Wood will continue with her dangerous plan without supervision. Three: it'll be a disaster.
"Er, no sir." He doesn't change expression. Stick to the truth. "One of my friends wants me to come over this evening. I wanted to tell her I can't make it."
He looks up at the clock. She had had a difficult afternoon, even if she had seemed to recover quickly with no lingering ill effects, but enough is enough. It's ten minutes to five, fifty minutes into overtime. "Take off, you're done for the day."
He sees the others looking at him expectantly and just waves his hand. It's been a too busy, too weird day and tired Agents make mistakes.
In less than a minute he has the bullpen to himself.
xxx
Megan Wood hurries out of her bedroom when the doorbell rings, runs to the door and flings it open. "Well, I didn't expect you to be the first to arrive, but welcome. Blessed Be."
"Blessed Be."
She locks the door, leads the way across the living room. "Come on, you can help me set up." She goes into her bedroom. The bed is pushed aside, leaving a large space on the carpet, and there is a table to the left covered by a black cloth. "I have the Altar set up facing the East. Facing Northeast, actually, but it's the best I can do in here." She kneels down beside a cardboard box that had been under the bed before it had been pushed aside. She pulls two tall glass enclosed colored candles out, twists to hand them up. Each is 7 inches high, 2 ½ inches wide and a good quarter inch thick, half an inch at the base. They are filled to the brim with thick wax, rather than having a thin candle standing inside. "Here."
"Heavy."
"Over two pounds, and the glass is so thick and the wax so dense I don't think they can break. I've dropped them before - nothing." She identifies the scent of each. "Just set them at the rear corners of the Altar." She turns aside to pull out two more.
The glass doesn't break when it slams down upon her head.
xxx
When Michelle Lee rings the doorbell, it's several moments before she hears the lock being turned, followed by a high feminine voice. "Come in." Michelle opens the door, carrying her equipment bag with her.
She barely crosses the threshold when a heavy foot kicks her in her stomach, doubles her over with a sharp cry. Before she can move strong hands grab her, yank her in, spin her around and slam her head first against the wall. Stunned, she can't defend herself as her assailant - she can barely realize he is a man - turns her and grabs her blouse, yanks her upright so hard it tears with a loud rip and she's slammed backward against the wall. Before she can get even a glimpse of a face she's punched in her left eye, then her right, her head slams twice against the red bricks. The blows blind her. Her blouse is yanked down her bare body, gathering about her buttoned sleeve cuffs, trapping her arms at her sides.
He continues hitting her, his fists like clubs. He uses her as a human punching bag. She can't raise her arms from the bondage of her blouse, can't defend herself. He batters her until she's too dazed to stand. He grabs her face and slams her head back against the brick wall; twice, three, four, six times. Her legs buckle and she collapses, slips to the floor, falls to her right side. Barely conscious, she's only half aware of the loud slam of the door that shakes the floor under her.
x
Fighting the pain, barely able to stay conscious, she forces herself to her feet. She staggers, bouncing off the walls - thank the Goddess more gently this time, she nearly falls twice as the hallway spins about her. She pulls the blouse back up her arms and over her shoulders, freeing herself from the restraint. There are no buttons to hold her blouse closed, leaving her exposed, but she can't think of holding it secured. There are more important concerns.
Fighting to keep from passing out, she staggers across the living room, barely able to see through swelling eyes. She hits the wall several times as she struggles toward the bedroom.
The sight that greets her almost makes Michelle succumb to the nausea welling up in her, but she fights it back.
x
Megan Wood's naked body lies upon the bedroom floor, surrounded by fragments of the clothes she'd worn earlier at NCIS. The room is almost destroyed, her face and breasts are bloody. Blood flows onto the rug from between her legs. Her breasts are sliced, downward pointing five pointed stars incised into her.
But her bloody chest rises and falls. Michelle staggers in, bends over the woman to check the pulse at her neck.
It is strong, but bending over has made the planet spin sickeningly, and Michelle falls to her knees. She tugs her cell phone from her pocket, punches the speed dial button, wishing the room would stop whirling so sickeningly.
//Gibbs.//
"Lee, sir;" she gasps, "at Megan Wood's." One hand holding her protesting stomach, she struggles to fight the nausea. "Someone tried to kill her, but she's still alive - barely." The room spins wildly. That and the pain make her stomach protest more violently. "Need an ambulance. Can you get Doctor Mallard and Jimmy here too?"
//You said she's alive?//
"Not for her; for me," she gasps, the room fading in and out of focus. Every breath stabs her ribs. "He really … beat the crap out of me ... and I'd kind of like … a doctor I know." It is not only Mallard she wants but she can never tell him that.
The room spins faster, she barely hears his words but they're from so far away. It sounds like he's moving. //Hang on; we're coming.//
"I'll tr--" she breathes, knows she's falling backward, but never feels herself hit the floor.